Babysitting
by Mistress of Tales
Summary: Harley has to babysit Scott. And that isn't the only problem he'll encounter during the evening...
1. Aw the cuuute wittle babyyy

Notes: Since I don't know much about babies, this is probably happening a bit into the future, as Scott is old enough to laugh, eat baby-food etc.  
Disclaimer: Sandrasandrasandrasandrasandra.  
 

Babysitting

*phone ring*

"Harley spea-ow! 'Sheequa!"

"No phones at re'ersals, ya nit."

Cy muttered a few choice phrases about obsessive boyfriends as Harley stepped away from the group.

"Aurie? Is that you?"

­"That's what I _said_."

"I was assaulted by an angry feminist at the time. What do you want?"

"I need you to do your favorite sister a favor," Aurora chirped.

"What, I didn't know Ma was pregnant."

"No _me, Harl."_

"Uh… what kind of favor?"

"Aubrey is taking me out for a date tonight, and I thought perhaps you'd-"

"Call him and say you suffer from a broken neck and can't make it? Gladly."

"Don't get smart with me, little brother. I want you to babysit Scott for me."

"_What?"_

"You are my last choice, believe me," came the unusually sarcastic reply from Aurora. "I couldn't get anyone else, even Ma and Dad were busy, and I need a night off. And don't even think about saying no, I've already dropped him off."

"You – but – what? But Mik isn't home now!"

"I know that, silly. But your nice landlady agreed to take care-"

The cell phone crashed on the concrete floor as Harley skidded out the door.

*Evil gothic doorbell sound*

Harley violated the landlady's doorbell until a very narrow-eyed Tabitha poofed up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"It is quite obvious which one of you is paying the rent," she said icily while Harley waited for his heart to recover. "You-"

"Where's Scott? What did you do to him? If you've sacrificed him in some sick ritual I'll-"

"Poke that finger in my chest once more and I'll take measures of how much of your skin I'll need for my bookbinding, Goldman. What makes you think I've done something horrible to the little… thing?

"Well, Cy's little sister has told some wonky stories no one in their right mind would believe."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Besides, babies are so overrated as spell components. Small, rude, gay men are much more sought after."

Harley backed away. It wasn't as if Aurora had had time to get much attached to the kid anyway, right?

"So the day you qualify as a man, you'll be in trouble," Tabitha finished, pushing Harley aside to unlock the door.

"Just give me Scott, okay?"

"Oh, I don't have him."

"_What?"_

"I had to pop out for a moment, and little humans are so messy. Allen is watching it."

The images of what Tabitha could do to a baby shrunk away in fear as they were replaced by Allen giving the kid the 'third degree'. Harley jumped over to the next door and punched in the doorbell. When no one answered within one tenth of a second, he started hammering on the door.

"Oh, for the effing saint's sake, Goldman," Tabitha sighed, again pushing him aside and unlocking Allen's door with the master key. Harley wrenched the door open and raced through the apartment, following the faint sounds of baby.

As most apartments in the building, Allen's was bigger on the inside than the outside, as Tabitha didn't see why human perceptions of space should apply to her. By the time Harley found the sound-proof practice range, he was panting for breath.

"… for the chest, kid. You have to be good to hit a moving head. I'm not saying that you never…"

"Dontshootthebaby!" Harley wheezed. Allen looked up, blond eyebrows frowning slightly. Scott was sitting in a portable baby-chair, chubby hand resting on the hilt of a gun, which was held firmly by the barrel by Allen.

"Don't burst in on an armed baby, Goldman. They are heavily traumatized and unstable."

Not dignifying it with an answer, Harley took Scott on one arm, and the chair and a bag of what looked like babystuff in the other hand. Scott rewarded him with a loud wail as the exciting new toy was pulled from his hard grip.

"Oh, shush, its not like I'm the bad guy here," Harley snapped, hoisting the bag onto his shoulder."

"Oh, and who is?" Allen said, sunglasses glaring.

"Err… the bogeyman. Gotta go."

"How are babies traumatized?" Tabitha queried when they were alone. She pressed the button that made the target plate roll up so she could change it with a new.

"They walk around in diapers and people blubber to them. They are natural killers."

"Your mother didn't dare breastfeed you, did she? Damn, the kid beat my high score. Hand me the ammo."

---

 Harley folded out the chair and placed Scott in it.

"Okay, listen kid," he said, waving a finger under the very Goldman-ish little nose. "I don't want to do this and, believe me, you don't want me to do it, but I'm going to take care of you for a few hours. This means: if you're hungry, you eat, you don't spit it out. I know how you little buggers are. If you need to do your business – hold it in until your mother is back. There are probably spare diapers in this bag, but I don't want to find out. Oh, and no crying. None whatsoever."

Scott reached up and grabbed the waving finger, blabbering happily. Harley's glaring face softened slightly, and he reached up and tickled the baby's chin. Dark curls bobbed as he giggled.

"Hey, you're practically a tiny Skids, aren't you? Just as ticklish. Okay, so we've got a deal? You'll be nice to uncle Harley?"

_I just referred to myself as 'uncle'_, he thought. _I feel old._

Scott reached out his arms, and Harley lifted him up again. "Let me take you on a tour around the mansion, hm? So this here now is the living room, but you've seen that before. Then in here is the kitchen, not very interesting since you don't eat solid stuff yet. You don't, right? Anyway, over here is the bathroom, you've seen that too. And I hope you'll forget every comment Aurora made about the contents of the shelves when she was changing your diapers in here. Then there is the bedroom, which is also pretty boring. I could make it sound more exciting, but you are underage and already traumatized enough from living with my sister. But now comes the funny part. This is uncle Mik's studio. See all the pretty colors? See them? Now see, you're allowed to laugh at this, but if I as much as smile while I'm in here – whoa. Two words, kiddo: artistic temper. Learn to recognize and avoid it."

Scott happily scrutinized a tube of paint, chewing experimentally on it. Then he dropped it, and focused on a spot of air a few inches from his nose.

"Not interesting anymore? Okay, uncle Harley – hey, I'm getting used to the name, that's good right? – I'll play a little for you and you'll go to sleep and wake up when Mummy comes. Sounds like a plan?"

Scott still focused on the spot, and started making little grunting noises.

"Oh, hey, kid, don't start choking on me, I'm already desperate. Did you eat any paint? What is wrong – whoa…"

A very peculiar smell spread in the room as Scott breathed a sigh of relief. Harley, on the other hand, had lost what little relief the peaceful tour had given him.

"Uh, kid, we had a deal on this… Shit, what am I supposed to do… diapers? Right. Diapers. I hope Aurie left an instruction video or something."

He found a few spare diapers in the bag, and carried Scott into the bathroom. Aurora had used a towel to put him on, right? Okay… towel, baby, diaper… He wondered if mothers grew an extra arm when needed as he fumbled to keep all the components of a diaper-change under control. Okay, towel on counter, baby on towel, diaper next to towel.

That, he realized, had been the easy part.

Well, the next steps seemed logical. Remove baby-pants. Remove old diaper. Run out of the bathroom to breathe. Hold breath. Return to the crime scene. Find washcloth…

Fifteen very long minutes later, the new diaper was in place. Perhaps not very elegantly put on, but Scott was merciful enough to look pleased.

"And Mik thought I couldn't handle the responsibility of having a baby," Harley snorted, closing the plastic bag with the three discarded diapers which had been used in the process. "We'll just have to talk to him about that adoption, don't you think, Scott?" he said, lifting up the baby.

Scott yawned cutely as they entered the living room again. Finding a blanket in the bag, he put Scott on the sofa. Which way were babies supposed to sleep? Something about choking stirred in his memory, but it wasn't all that clear. He'd just have to keep an eye on the kid.

Curling up in a chair, he took his guitar and started a slow, easy tune. Scott's eyes fluttered, and then closed firmly, dark lashes resting on his cheekbones. There wasn't much of Harley's side of the family in those colors, but the nose gave away the heritage.

Harley smiled and kept playing the home-made lullaby. This babysitting-thing might not be so bad after all…

to be continued


	2. Fluffiness with a plot?

Mik stopped as he came into the living room, taking in the scene. Scott was asleep on the couch, small fists loosely curled, breath slow and calm. In the chair next to him, Harley dozed with his head lolling to the side, the guitar resting in his lap.

A smile spread across Mikhael's face at the idyllic scene. He silently moved closer to look the sleeping beauties without disturbing them. But seeing as Harley's position couldn't possibly be comfortable, he leant down and put a hand gently on his shoulder. The blond jerked awake, wincing as he straightened his stiff neck.

"Whu-what? Mik? Oh, shit, I fell asleep?"  
"Judging by your snoring, yes. Some host you are for your guest."  
"Is he okay?"  
"Of course he is."  
"That isn't 'of course'. Babies are disaster magnets. All sorts of horrible stuff can happen to them."  
Mik took his hand and helped him up. "Well, you've done a great job of keeping those disasters away, then."  
"Yeah. I feel kinda proud. I even changed his diapers."  
"_You_ changed diapers? How do you know how to do that?"  
"Er… by guessing, mainly. And you're taking care of the next one."  
"How could Aurora be desperate enough to let you babysit?"  
"_Hey!_"  
"Sshh, don't wake him up."

They snuck into the kitchen and left the door slightly open. 

Fifteen minutes later, and in the middle of very noiseless dinner preparations, the sleeping angel turned into a screaming demon. Harley sucked his finger and glared at the half-cut vegetables and blood-stained knife as if they were the ones who had startled him. Mik was already by the couch, lifting the baby up and calming him. Scott settled comfortingly quickly on his arm, and resorted to sullen blabbering.

"Some voice on the thing," Harley commented when they were back in the kitchen.  
"He has your singing voice," Mik replied smoothly.  
"You just got yourself an extra headache, babe, I'm gonna teach the kid to sing when he gets older. Preferably while standing outside your studio."  
"Not if I get him interested in the finer arts first," Mikhael stated, putting Scott in the babychair he had pulled into the kitchen.  
"We're arguing who'll have the worst influence on him already? You know, if Aurie wants to get rid of the responsibility…"  
"_No_, Harley."  
"Aw, but you'd make a great daddy. There, I boosted your ego, did it help?"  
"Afraid not, it is against Tabitha's rules. No pets."  
"That was mean!"  
"The subclause states that this includes humans that are less than three feet tall. Has he eaten anything since he got here?"  
"Nope. Watched art, pooped, fell asleep. I'll check the bag."  
Harley returned with a glass of orangish baby-food and a bib. "All yours, I have to find a band-aid."  
The doorbell rang as Harley passed, and he opened it.

"Hey guys, come in, be right with you," he said and disappeared into the bathroom.   
"Wonder what bit him," Skids said, closing the door behind him.  
"Either a hungry imp or Rasputin," Cyanide replied. They headed for the odd sounds coming from the kitchen, and was met by what Cy considered a pleasant sight. His face split in a gleeful grin as he leaned on the back of a chair, making a little "t-t-t"-sound with his tongue.

"My, my, Rasputin. You had us all stringed along nicely, and suddenly the truth is out, hm? Because, face it, we would have noticed if you had knocked up Harls. Who is the unlucky mother?"

"Aurora," was Mikhael's short reply, as Scott burbled out some of the food-goo.

"Rasputin, you dog!" Cyanide strode around the table, slapping Mik's back and savoring every second. "This is Springer material. Can't you imagine it? "Gay men who get their boyfriend's sisters pregnant." It probably happens all the time, though, so we'd have to dig up your shady past as a nymphomaniac drag-queen to spice it up."  
"Go and annoy the ferret, Torres."

Scott chose that moment to express his feelings about the feeding, and let out a wail that could have woken the dead (which wasn't too unlikely in this building). Mikhael found the jar and spoon being removed from his hands, and then Cy pulled a chair up to Scott.

"I suppose there won't be any peace here before the kid is fed," he muttered. "Just don't thank me, that'd just be weird."

"No problem." Mikhael stood up, and Cy leaned towards the baby's ear, whispering something. Then he fed spoonful after spoonful to the unresisting mouth, Scott eating it wit every sign of approval.

"Worked with all of my sisters, and probably with me too," Cy stated. "Spanish is the universal language of threats."

The doorbell rang. They heard Harley open, and then voices from the living room. Mikhael was cleaning baby-food off his shirt, and Skids was distracting Scott from the meal with a noisy toy he had found in the bag.

As Cy lifted up the baby and patted his back, the door to the kitchen was wrenched open, Harley skidded inside, and then closed it quickly and quietly. He stared around at the others wild-eyed.

"My parents are here! Hide the baby!"


End file.
